


All Roads Lead to the Same End

by luneur



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Dark, Doomed Relationship, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Mutual Pining, Shooting, Stranded, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luneur/pseuds/luneur
Summary: Lalo and Nacho get stranded on the way to his place in Chihuahua.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	All Roads Lead to the Same End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> Hello, I hope you'll enjoy this gift as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. You asked for something wild with Lalo and Nacho and I might have taken your request a little too literally. I have glossed over a couple of criminal aspects of this as I really wanted to be careful not to touch on any of your dnws, but it contains a lot of typical canon behaviour and violence. 
> 
> It takes place between 'Bad Choice Road' and 'Something Unforgivable'. I apologise for any mistakes in Spanish. The song Lalo sings is 'Hermoso Cariño' by Vicente Fernández, it's the same one he was singing when he was staking out the chicken farm. It roughly translates as something like: 'Beautiful love, that God has sent me, to be destined for no one else but me'. 
> 
> Who said romance was dead, huh?
> 
> Huge thanks to both my betas who were super helpful and did an awesome job <3

Nacho is driving; one hand draped across the steering wheel. He’s listening to the smooth purr of the AMC Javelin’s engine, and to Lalo, softly humming the melody of some _mariachi_ love song beside him.

Lalo lounges in the passenger seat, eyes half-closed, his paisley shirt hanging loosely over his shoulders.

All these years and Nacho has never seen a Salamanca look so peaceful.

It’s almost an anticlimactic way to wind things up between them.

Almost.

Nacho exhales deeply, willing the tension to leave his body. He sits back and tries to enjoy the peace, the solitude. But the quiet only makes his stomach churn and his breathing faster. He can’t afford to get lost in thought or to lose concentration – he’s telling too many lies to too many different people. Only now is he beginning to realize the toll it’s taking on him.

“Hey, _Nachito_ ,” Lalo says, breaking his line of thought. “You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

Their eyes meet. Nacho’s knees feel weak. He wants to ignore Lalo, to pretend the question isn’t hanging heavily in the air between them. If he weren’t the brooding, restrained type, he’d think of something funny, something stirring to fill the silence.

But he can’t, so Nacho keeps quiet.

~

They’re barely south of the border when Nacho figures something is wrong. Call it a hunch, but he’s usually right about these things. The cities don’t worry him so much, but as the noise of traffic fades away and the smooth road becomes a rough gravel track, his sense of foreboding only grows stronger.

No one would bat an eyelid if he disappeared out here, or if he never made it back to the States alive. Briefly, he wonders if his father would look for him, or if his absence would bring him a sense of peace. Maybe, Nacho thinks, chest aching, he’d be better off without me.

Instinctively, he lets his hand rest on the gearshift, feeling it brush against Lalo’s leg. Nacho figures he’ll move away first, but he doesn’t. Perhaps he’s not even aware they’re touching.

Nacho feels so devastatingly lonely; it permeates every aspect of his existence. That’s why Lalo’s gotten under his skin, he supposes. They’re just two lost souls, navigating a fucked-up world, and trying not to die in the process.

Surely, there’s a better life than this out there for us, he wants to say to Lalo. But he knows there isn’t, so he doesn’t.

Nacho feels so tired. He just wants out.

~

They pass mile after mile of barren dirt and khaki sand. It’s past midnight, and Nacho knows the car headlights stand out like a beacon. They’re sitting ducks; they’re easy pickings. He and Lalo might as well have told their enemies they were coming.

Nacho’s not surprised when someone starts tailing them, even less so when the guy in the passenger seat starts shooting.

“Here we go,” Lalo says, a languid smile spreading across his face.

He seems so relaxed, so unmoved. 

“We’re being shot at.” Nacho glares at him, breathing sharply.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lalo replies, slowly reaching into his pocket. “Don't worry about it.”

How can I not worry? He wants to ask, but he figures it’d be the wrong thing to say. Nacho breathes deeply and tries to concentrate on driving. He sees Lalo pull back the slide of his semi-automatic pistol, a familiar, ominous sight that tells him bloodshed is coming.

“You got enough ammo?”

“Sure, sure.” Lalo winds down the window.

Nacho isn’t convinced by that response. He steps on the gas, and the Javelin soars. The gunfire continues – he can hear and feel the bullets, so dangerously close.

“Who do you think they are?” Nacho asks, thinking out loud.

He hopes neither Gus nor Mike would be this sloppy. Surely, they wouldn’t stoop so low.

“Same people who wanted to keep me in jail,” Lalo replies, firing back. “Let's just call them competitors of ours.”

Nacho tenses, wondering what Lalo knows.

“Hey, can’t this thing go any faster?” Lalo shouts at him.

But Nacho doesn’t get a chance to answer, because a bullet makes it through the rear windshield, clipping him in the right shoulder. It’s the same spot where Tyrus got him not so long ago. He gasps, pain searing through him like fire. If possible, it hurts even more than when he got shot there the first time.

“You okay?” Lalo asks, but Nacho doesn’t acknowledge him.

His hands go slack on the steering wheel, and it’s taking all his strength to keep the car going in a straight line at such speed.

“Hey, _Nachito_.” Lalo clicks his tongue. “Stay with me.”

Shell casings clink, air hisses from the tires.

“ _¡Ay Dios!_ ” He hears Lalo say.

He’s bleeding out now – he can feel his warm, red blood seeping out from the wound on his shoulder. His vision blurs, and his heart pounds. The Javelin’s losing speed, swerving to the left. It’s not entirely Nacho’s fault - like it’s going to be drivable with two flat tires.

He does not want to go out like this, in the middle of nowhere, caught in the crossfire. Another bullet taken for the Salamanca family – it’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic.

Lalo is still firing defiantly, like a man possessed.

The Javelin stops with a screech. Nacho hears their pursuers stop, car doors opening behind them. He glances at Lalo who’s hastily changing the clip of his gun. Nacho watches as his chest rises and falls slowly, noticing how a stray lock of salt-and-pepper colored hair falls onto his face.

“There’s at least six of them,” Lalo says, peeking at the side mirror.

Nacho’s heart sinks. He’s not in a fit state to defend himself. 

All the shit he’s been through, and it’s going to end here, in this desolate wasteland.

He closes his eyes and tries not to hyperventilate. The murmur of unfamiliar voices fills his ears.

They’re getting closer.

A guy opens the passenger door and Lalo springs to life, firing a bullet right into his throat. Blood splatters over them both. Nacho’s pulse races as his gaze lands on Lalo, smiling maniacally, as though he was born for moments like this.

Lalo takes out the next guy and the one after that. Nacho scrambles for his gun, but he doesn’t even get the chance to use it.

There’s the cracking of bullets, traveling faster than the speed of sound, until just one of their attackers remains standing. Lalo shoots him in the groin and watches, transfixed as he crumbles to the ground, wailing like a child.

“Who sent you, _cabrón_?” He says menacingly.

The guy doesn’t reply.

Nacho looks at him, recognizing the fear, the terror in his eyes. He’s hit with such a wave of self-loathing it threatens to overwhelm him. Maybe his father is right – they should lock Nacho up and throw away the key. He’s nothing but a monster.

But he doesn’t enjoy this. Not like Lalo does.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Lalo growls, shooting him in the leg.

“I don’t know who hired us; there was a middleman,” he gasps.

Lalo shrugs and finishes the job.

He makes a show of wiping his hands and face with a handkerchief, but when he turns to face Nacho, he’s still caked in blood.

It’s the last thing Nacho sees before the world fades to black.

~

Nacho smells smoke and gasoline. He can feel something pressing against his mouth.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” Lalo says, sounding cheerful. “Drink.”

His eyes struggle to focus in the dark, and his shoulder throbs angrily.

“ _Agua, Nachito. Ahorita_.” Lalo’s face is expressionless as he hovers over him.

Nacho tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry. With a shaking hand, he accepts the plastic bottle from Lalo. The liquid is lukewarm, but it feels like bliss when it goes down his parched throat.

“Easy.” Lalo takes it from him. “We’re uh… we’re gonna need to save some of this for later.”

Nacho nods, but he doesn’t understand. Not at first. It comes back to him in waves – the pursuit, the shooting, Lalo, killing everything in sight. They’re in the desert without any transport, God knows how far away from Lalo’s place.

Remembering makes Nacho want to bring the water he just swallowed back up.

 _“¡Chinga tu madre!_ ” Lalo curses, waving his cell phone around in the air. “No reception out here for miles, man.”

“Who are you trying to call?” It takes all of Nacho’s effort not to stammer.

“Leonel and Marco, of course,” he replies. “They’re good boys. They’ll take care of us.”

Nacho’s night goes from bad to worse. “We should start walking,” he says.

Lalo clicks his tongue, laughing humorlessly. “Ignacio, you are in no fit state to walk, _mi amigo_. And I’m not carrying you again. Those muscles of yours are heavy, man.”

“It’s just a scratch.” Nacho glances at his shoulder – his shirt is soaked in blood; it looks black in the darkness. “I’m good to go.”

Lalo looks at him, considering. “I’ll help you. You took another bullet for my family, _Nachito_. Don’t think that means nothing to me.”

Even though it’s dark, Nacho knows Lalo has a deranged smile on his face, like he gets some perverted pleasure from all of this. It sends shivers down Nacho’s spine.

He uses every ounce of his strength to get onto his feet, throwing his good arm around Lalo’s shoulder. Together, they stumble forwards. Better to get as far as they can now during the cool night, before the unforgiving heat of the day, Nacho supposes.

Ahead, there is only more darkness, pitch black and unforgiving.

They walk.

~

Nacho doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking. It feels like hours, but it’s still dark, so it can’t be. Each step takes more effort than the last, and he’s wearier than he’s ever been in his life – dog tired. The cruel cold makes his bones ache.

Worse still, Nacho’s worrying about his wound. Sometimes, even multiple gunshots don’t guarantee death or even incapacitation. It all depends on where you get hit. He’s alive – that much is pretty obvious, but he’s taken one hell of a shot, and that can’t be healthy. Having to walk is only aggravating his injury, and he feels it catch, feels it bleed, feels it sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body.

He needs a doctor.

“Can we stop?” Nacho asks, gasping. “I just have to rest awhile. Please, Lalo.”

It is not easy to reason with a Salamanca, least of all Lalo, but he must try.

“Uh, this is not a good spot,” Lalo says, exhaling slowly. “Too out in the open. We gotta go a little further.”

Nacho slowly lifts his head and glances around. He can’t make anything out in the darkness – no landmarks, no signs, no lights.

“You know where we are?”

“For sure, I do.” Lalo scoffs, as though he’s offended. “I know this desert like the back of my hand.”

The revelation should come as a relief. Instead, it only makes Nacho more anxious.

“ _Tío_ Hector used to drive us out here, blindfolded. Make us find our way home in the heat of the afternoon,” Lalo says, as though he’s reading his mind.

Nacho starts to shiver.

“He said it would make men out of us.” Lalo laughs, deeply and heartily. He glances at Nacho and stops abruptly. “The training stays with you, Ignacio. It always stays with you.” He laughs again. “Just ask Leonel and Marco.”

Nacho is too stupefied to say anything. It’s the most Lalo’s ever revealed about his past, and somehow, it makes Nacho feel more drawn to him. There’s so much he wants to understand, but Nacho doubts he’s ever going to get the chance to ask about it.

Not now. Their story will never have a happy ending.

They keep walking.

“ _Hermoso cariño_ ,” Lalo sings tunelessly under his breath. “ _Que Dios me ha mandado.”_

Nacho’s mood darkens.

“ _A ser destinado, nomás para mí_ …”

Oh God, he just wants Lalo to stop.

“Of course, it’s not as dangerous out here as it once was.” Lalo snorts. “Too many rich tourists, you know. Willing to pay thousands of dollars to stare at sand dunes all day.”

Nacho thinks he’d pay thousands never to have to see them again.

“ _Vámonos_ ,” Lalo says. “It’s not that much further.”

But for Nacho, every footstep feels like another mile.  
  


~

Eventually, Nacho’s legs collapse.

“Hey!” Lalo raises his voice. “Easy, easy.”

He’s only vaguely aware of Lalo’s arms around his torso, lowering his body onto the ground. They take shelter behind a giant rock.

“I’m cold,” Nacho manages to say.

“That’s funny,” Lalo replies. “Because you’re pouring with sweat.”

Nacho doesn’t think it’s funny at all.

Lalo sits next to him and starts ripping the hem of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Nacho shudders and gasps.

“You’re uh…” Lalo starts wrapping the fabric around Nacho’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding out, _Nachito_. Don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of it.”

Nacho begins to tremble. He finds he’s unable to stop.

Lalo pulls him close, cradling him in his arms. Nacho marvels at the way his head fits so well on Lalo’s chest. He can’t remember the last time someone held him like this. Too bad he’s got to be half-dead for someone to want to touch him while they’re sober.

Lalo strokes his back, pressing his nose against the crook of Nacho’s neck. It feels nice, warm and inviting. He doesn’t want it to end; it makes his skin tingle with more pleasure than he’s felt in what seems like forever. 

But a guy like him – he doesn’t deserve kindness; he doesn’t deserve affection.

Wave after wave of revulsion hits Nacho like a torrent. Even Lalo, for all his sins, is worthy of more than being stabbed in the back by a scheming double agent. In another lifetime, Nacho thinks, they could have been heroes. They could have brought Fring down together.

The sound of Lalo softly breathing fills his ears. Nacho knows he won’t be breathing much longer – Mike pretty much guaranteed him that. He wonders how they’ll take Lalo out. Will Nacho be there, will he bear witness to Lalo’s last seconds on this earth?

He’s not sure he can take it.

He hopes that when the ending comes, it’ll be merciful.

It probably won’t. Lalo isn’t likely to go down without a fight, and Nacho can’t blame him.

Nacho closes his eyes and pictures his father. All of this, everything he’s doing, is because he cares for his papa. His priorities cannot change.

Maybe, he thinks, Lalo would understand if he knew the truth. Then again, perhaps he wouldn’t.

Nacho can’t afford to take the chance.

“Leave me here,” he whispers to Lalo. “Go on without me.”

Run. Run for your fucking life, and don’t look back, he wants to say, but he knows he mustn’t.

Lalo goes rigid beside him, and Nacho can hear his heart racing in his chest.

“No,” he says. “I’m not gonna do that, Ignacio.”

Seconds pass. They feel like minutes.

“Aren’t you ever scared?”

“Of what? Of death?”

Nacho nods. It’s like Lalo knows what’s coming.

Lalo gives a low, menacing laugh. “In Mexico, we don’t fear death; we embrace it.”

~

Morning sunlight stings Nacho’s eyes. The heat is already building, the humidity and the lack of air movement making it even more of an effort to stay conscious.

He wants to give in; to slip away into the void, the darkness. He would’ve done so already if it weren’t for Lalo.

“That’s it, _Nachito_. Just a little further,” he says. _“¡Eres un chingón!”_

Yeah, he’s such a badass. Nacho isn’t doing anything – Lalo is the one carrying him to safety, keeping him alive.

He’s never seen Lalo look so unkempt before. His designer shirt is ripped and dirty, his hair wet and plastered to his reddened face. Some of last night’s blood stains his skin. As Nacho glances across at him, he notices Lalo’s lips are beginning to chap.

Slowly, Lalo stops staggering forward.

“Okay, this is the spot.” He gasps, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t worry – they’ll be here.”

Nacho doesn’t know how to do anything else other than worry. Not anymore.

They sit on the ground. Sand is up Nacho’s nose and in his shoes, it’s wormed its way into places he doesn’t even want to think about. Next to him, Lalo takes the cap off the plastic bottle, opening his mouth and tipping it back.

It’s a fruitless effort; there’s no water left, not even a drop. Lalo gives an agonizing groan.

They hear the SUV approaching before they see it. Nacho watches as the sand flies all around the blacked-out vehicle like a dust storm.

The cousins are here. He should feel relieved. Instead, he only feels a wave of fear wash over him for whatever horror he might have to face next.

Leonel and Marco step out of the vehicle, tall and menacing, staring into space, their eyes devoid of all humanity. In a way, Nacho envies them. It’d be nice to feel nothing – no guilt, no remorse. But then he thinks of Lalo’s embrace, the way it made his skin tingle and his heart skip a beat, and he pictures his father’s smile.

There is still light in his life, even now. And Nacho chooses to hold onto that.

Behind the cousins stands a bespectacled Mexican man. Nacho figures he’s in his mid-fifties. His shoulders slump, and his eyes rove from Lalo to Nacho and then back again. As he looks at them, he takes a step backwards.

“Please tell me he’s not a vet,” Nacho says wearily.

“What?” Lalo screws his face up, clicking his tongue. “This guy’s the best _médico_ in all of _Chihua_. He’s gonna patch you up real nice, Ignacio. Aren’t you, Doctor Escudero?”

The guy nods, shaking.

Nacho squeezes his eyes shut, his breath rasping in the back of his throat. The sound of his heartbeat thrashes in his ears.

Leonel and Marco carry him to the car.


End file.
